Challenge Accepted
by The Bloody Red Queen Of Angst
Summary: This comes in response to MoonlitAtMidnight's challenge in her brave work, "Progress". Challenge accepted, my friend. I suggest that you all go and read every single one of her stories. There is no way that you will end up disappointed. Disclaimer: I don't own Fruits Basket (Or Breaking Benjamin). I DO, however, own Hard Candy. *Oneshot/Complete*


**A/N: So, this comes as a response to a challenge given by MoonlitAtMidnight, when she posted "Progress". Though I have to admit this will probably be the only response I give. Because, unlike the amazing lady who put herself out there by writing "Progress", I am not nearly that brave.**

 **But that being said, this one is for you. To say thank you for the amazing work you have done. Thank you, for your continued dedication to the craft and self improvement that has so often led to pieces of art I for one know I could never live without had you not created them. So, thank you.**

 **Now, for the response "Challenge Accepted". What I did was take the first chapter of 'Dear Agony', and put it up back to back next to the first chapter of my original story on Wattpad, 'Hard Candy'. And I will be honest, that I'm not sure which concept came first in my mind. I would like to think that 'Dear Agony' had always been the foundation of something I had wanted to do for a long time. So, without further ado, please enjoy!**

* * *

 **(Dear Agony-2013)** **Chapter 1: What Lies Beneath**

He breathed slowly, closing his eyes and focusing on the air entering and exiting his lungs. Hearing the sound of the crowd had always made him nervous. Waiting to go on stage made him feel even more uneasy. He tried to remember why he was doing this. It was clear he wasn't doing this for himself. He wasn't allowed to do anything for his own reasons. Hearing a knock at the door he gave a heavy sigh, opening his eyes.

"Come in." He said softly, knowing that his voice would still be heard.

"Yuki, you're on in 10 minutes." The voice came from the other side of the open door.

"Thank you, Shigure." He responded glumly, not bothering to make eye contact with his band manager.

"Is everything okay? You need anything?" Shigure asked, taking in the melancholy affect of the young man sitting in the backstage changing room.

"I'm fine…" Yuki murmured, grabbing a glass of clear liquid and putting it to his lips.

"That had better be water, Yuki." Shigure chided, and Yuki glanced at him with a blank stare.

Yuki continued to drink, finishing the rest of his glass without taking a breath. Shigure simply watched with a dubious expression. Yuki set the glass down and closed his eyes, feeling the familiar warmth emanate from his abdomen and spread through the rest of his body. A slight smile played across his lips, he had learned to enjoy this sensation. If h _e_ expected him to perform on stage as his personal money, Yuki needed an incentive. Shigure stood in the doorway for a moment before giving a huff of disapproval and closing the door to the dressing room, leaving Yuki alone.

He swiveled in the chair to face the mirror. The heavy makeup had always bothered him…always. 'It's part of the image' he had been told by his producer. The devil himself. Somehow he had always felt there was more to it then that. A reason he wanted Yuki to look so effeminate. Whatever the reason, Yuki could not deny that the fans loved it. He looked at the clock, show time. Standing up he felt his head spin, and braced himself on the wall for a moment. He had to pull himself together and get through this. Taking another breath he steadied himself, and made his way out of the room. He paused just to the left of the stage, waiting for his entrance cue. Plastering on a fake smile, he sauntered onto the stage as he was introduced.

"Thank you!" He shouted to the crowd from his headset as he waved enthusiastically to them. "Thank you all for being here. You are in for a real treat tonight. I have been working on a new song, and you are going to be the first to hear it!" With that the crowd shrieked in delight.

Yuki found his way to the middle of the stage where a stool was waiting for him. He sat, grateful that Shigure had remembered to set the stage properly, as he was in no shape to stand at the moment. The music began, and the crowd quieted in eager anticipation. Yuki closed his eyes, feeling the music move through him from the amplifiers on either side of the stage. He began, his voice velvet and flawless.

Take a breath  
Hold it in  
Start a fight  
You won't win  
Had enough  
Let's begin  
Nevermind  
I don't care

The heavy medal beat grew in intensity as he reached the chorus, his voice picking up an edge.

All in all  
You're no good  
You don't cry  
Like you should  
Let it go  
If you could  
When love dies in the end

So I'll find what lies beneath  
Your sick twisted smile  
As I lie underneath  
Your cold jaded eyes  
Now you turn the tide on me  
'Cause you're so unkind  
I will always be here  
For the rest of _my life_

Yuki screamed the last two words, his voice carrying effortlessly over the heavy bass. He paused, letting the music envelop him. Starting again, his voice turned velvet.

Here we go  
Does it hurt  
Say goodbye  
to this world  
I will not  
Be undone  
Come to life  
It gets worse

His face became pained, though he doubted the crowd would notice. These memories would only be seen as part of an act to entertain. His pain was their amusement, and they so enjoyed it. An edge entered his voice as he began the chorus again.

All in all  
You're no good  
You don't cry  
Like you should  
I'll be gone  
when you fall  
Your sad life  
Says it all

So I'll find what lies beneath  
Your sick twisted smile  
As I lie underneath  
Your cold jaded eyes  
Now you turn the tide on me  
'Cause you're so unkind  
I will always be here  
For the rest of my life

He took a breath, readying himself for the complicated bridge.

 _Don't_ carry me under

He screamed the lyrics as the crowd swayed in rapture to the music.

You're the devil in disguise  
 _God_ sing for the hopeless

His deep scream resonated through the large room. Why the fans loved this he still did not quite understand.

I'm the one you left behind

Relief crossed his face as he knew the song was coming to an end.

So I'll find what lies beneath  
Your sick twisted smile  
As I lie underneath  
Your cold jaded eyes  
Now you turn the tide on me  
'Cause you're so unkind  
I will always be here  
For the rest of _my life_

As the music faded, and finally came to a close, the crowd erupted into thunderous applause. The deafening sound made Yuki's head ache, but he opened his eyes and smiled at his fans. How they loved his misery. Another hour and a half. That was how long he needed to hold it together. The music cued back up and he began into the more familiar songs his fans adored.

The rest of the show went flawlessly, as they had all of the times before. Yuki's performance was nothing less than perfect. Exiting the stage after the show, he made his way back to the dressing room. Taking a seat in his chair he became keenly aware that he was not alone. Not looking to see who might be behind him he simply went about his business, taking off his makeup.

"Did you enjoy the show?" He asked, finally directing his gaze in the mirror to look at the man leaning against the wall behind him.

"You really need to stop writing shit about me…" The voice murmured, as the man exhaled the smoke from the cigarette in his hand.

"What makes you think my songs are about you?" Yuki stated coldly, continuing the arduous task of cleaning his face.

"Aren't they?" The man challenged, taking another drag of his cigarette.

"I thought you wanted to be my muse." Yuki stated indifferently, taking off his black spiked wrist bands.

The man approached him, cigarette in hand. His eyes were cold and merciless a small, wicked smile playing across his lips. He paused right behind Yuki, looking at him through the mirror.

"I may be your muse." He stated coldly, placing a hand on Yuki's left shoulder. "But just remember who owns you…"

With that the man took his cigarette and slowly snuffed it out on Yuki's bare right shoulder. Yuki winced slightly, but made no other sigh of pain. Something like glee flickered behind the man's cold eyes before he turned around to exit the room. Just before leaving he paused in the doorway, peering over his shoulder.

"See you around, Yuki." He said, more of a threat then a cordial farewell.

"Akito…" Was Yuki's only parting shot to his producer before he left.

 **OoO**

 **(Hard Candy-2015) Chapter One: The Only Way To Hell Is Down**

He lifted the glass to his lips, the dry burn working its way along his tongue and down his throat. An unpleasant sensation he had learned to endure. Not the first. Certainly not the worst. But by far the most gratifying. With the slow burn came a spread of warmth that blossomed in his abdomen and spread through his body. Not even finished with the drink in his hand, he was already thinking about his next. There had to be a next. There always was...

A gentle sigh broke the silence of the room as he finally finished his drink, his gaze taking in the dark black lip stains left on the glass. His eyebrows furrowed into a disgruntled scowl, realizing he now needed to touch up his lipstick. Perfect...

"Yeb." He hissed in discontent, the Russian vulgarity slipping though his lips with the slightest of slurs before he let out a sigh of defeat. "Might as well have another one before I do that..." He muttered to himself, something he did often when he was alone.

Thin, black-tipped fingers found their way to a large flask on the vanity, his gaze careful not to catch his own reflection. Flask in hand, a small smile lifted the corner of his painted lips. One of the best birthday gifts he had ever gotten. Completely solid sterling silver set with gold inlay, the thing was heavier than it looked, even when empty. Which wasn't often. But it was absolutely beautiful. His roommate knew him a little too well. Not necessarily a good thing...for him. Filling the glass half way, he reasoned that he would have enough time to finish it before they called him.

The smile on his lips faltered as his gaze fell on the engraving. Running his thumb lightly over the words, his expression came almost sad, laced with something much like anger. He sat in silence, absorbing the personalized message on the flask...something he did whenever he used it.

 _Live the dream!_

Placing the flask carefully into one of the vanity's drawers, he gave another sigh. Out of sight, out of mind. With another sip of his glass, his expression smoothed over, coming blank as he focused on the growing warmth and numbness spreading through his limbs. Kauffman Vodka. It was unreasonably priced for what it was, but Aden enjoyed it anyway. Clear. Odorless. Tasteless. This friend was all business. Its no-nonsense approach always left Aden satisfied. Content. And numb. The fact that it left no evidence of their meetings was just an added benefit to their friendship.

Raising his glass Aden found himself giving a silent, cynical salute to the mother land. Chasing the toast with another sip of his glass, Aden used the slow burn to his advantage in stifling the bitter chuckle that had nearly escaped his painted lips. His father would have _loved_ this. A light tapping caused the slightest of twitches through his fingertips as they squeezed themselves to the glass.

"Come in." The words breathed in the softest of whispers as he heard the door open. He didn't bother looking at the one on the other side, he had a guess as to who it was.

"You ready, Aden?" The voice came gentle as Aden continued to stare blankly at his glass. "We're starting in fifteen minutes. The opening band is wrapping up their performance."

Aden simply let the words of his band manager sink into his skin. Feeling his hatred for her course through his muscles down through his fingertips, Aden fought the desire to throw his glass straight at his band manager's head. Shawn Evens...the right hand of the Devil himself.

Aden's dark gaze flitted briefly towards his manager, taking in her voluptuous figure as it pushed itself from her classic dress suit. Her stick straight dark auburn bob came tastefully painted and streaked with subtle hues of deep purple, delicately framing her angular features. Luscious lips attractively pursed as green eyes stared Aden down through chic black frames.

"Thanks, Shawn." Aden murmured before lifting the glass to his lips once again, momentary deciding against using it as a projectile.

"Everything okay?" Concern and trepidation laced and intertwined itself within the tone of the voice.

"Fine." Aden muttered glumly.

 _'Or at least it had been until you showed up...' A_ den thought to himself as an exasperated sigh passed through his lips.

"Do you need anything?"

 _'...more liquor...'_ Aden thought to himself, the desire lingering on the tip of his tongue before he silenced it with another sip from his glass. Aden sat in silence with Kauffman while the two of them contemplated his other _needs_. A break. Some peace. His expression falling into a scowl, Aden came to the cold realization that neither one of _these_ needs would be met. The mere _concept_ of peace had abandoned him long ago. So he remained silent, taking an amount of bitter solace from the bottom of the glass. At least he still had his friend Kauffman. Kauffman wouldn't abandon him. Thick eyelashes fluttered in response to the sensation of his liquid consort before he was interrupted with an audible huff of disapproval.

"That's not water, is it?" The observation came blunt in its accusation.

A slight snort of amusement escaped through Aden's nose. _'Nice tact, Shawn...way to be nonchalant.'_

Casting his gaze away from the glass, Aden drank in the look of pure disdain on Shawn Evan's beautiful face. Like she had any room to judge. Everyone here indulged in vice. _Everyone_. That's what this whole damn empire was built on. Vice and pain. The Devil himself, Aden's producer had made sure of it. Because vice made for the most beautiful form of apathy. Apathy...the Devil's playground.

Silence consumed and ate away at the space between the two as they stared each other down. It was a well traveled rumor in this industry that Aden's music producer liked his women...loose. He never made acquaintances, friends, or lovers. He wasn't interested in meaningful relationships. What Aden's music producer preferred to collect...were whores. And Shawn certainly fit that bill. A woman possessing insatiable ambition and a body that could tempt the most virtuous of men, Aden could only imagine what Shawn had done to advance her career. And it made him absolutely sick. Any respect he could have managed for the woman was systematically stripped away every time he saw her with his producer.

She was a beautiful woman who had sold her soul to the Devil himself for a seat at his right hand. And Aden's hostility towards her was only amplified by the realization of his own hypocrisy for hating her. Because he knew that they were all the same here. They were all dead. And this was Hell.

Shawn just had a better seat than everyone else...

"I can't believe you're doing this before the show." She huffed in irritation, her delicate features distorting into a frustrated scowl as she took in Aden's inebriated state.

"You can't?" Aden's voice came impassive before going back to his glass, causing Shawn's irritation to seethe beneath her professional demeanor.

"This is bullshit, Aden." She hissed, the curse coming to mar the beauty of her lips.

"Yes. Yes, it is." Aden agreed quietly, only driving his band manager into further frustration. "But I do my job, so go do yours." He murmured dismissively before pulling his full attention back to the glass in his hand.

He felt Shawn stare at him in complete disbelief as he finished what was left of his drink. Setting the glass back down on the vanity, Aden's empty gaze trailed back over to his band manager. His glazed eyes took in Shawn's infuriated expression in silence. Shawn parted her lips, ready to release the full force of her rage in protest before Aden's soft murmur cut her short.

"Shawn..." Aden whispered, his dark gaze slowly drifting through his bangs to pierce the green gaze of his manager. "Drop it."

The subtle threat caused Shawn to falter in her chastisement. She quickly turned on her stiletto heels to leave the dressing room, releasing another exasperated huff of disapproval that was quickly taken over by an audible gasp of surprise as her delicate frame was nearly knocked over. Her intense green gaze narrowed through her trendy black frames in slight disapproval, acknowledging the person who had run into her.

"Hey, Shawn..." The greeting came slow, the voice husky in it's suggestive call. "How's it goin'?" Words followed by an even more suggestive, feline-like smile at the band managers obvious discomfort.

"Gabriel..." Shawn's voice came clearly exasperated at the sexual undertow of the greeting she had received. "I'm fine."

"Oh, yes you are." The voice practically thrummed with lust as the man encroached Shawn's space, causing her to back up into the dressing room. "And you smell really nice, too. Is that new perfume you're wearing?" This last complement came out in an almost animalistic growl. "So very tasty..."

"Get away from me Gabe." Shawn's voice came irked as she finally pushed herself past the man blocking her way, stalking down the hall in her stiletto heels and pencil skirt as the man's warm hazel gaze immediately fell to her back end.

"Come on! Don't be like that, babe!" The voice of Aden's roommate and fellow band member called out after Shawn as the woman strutted away in her stiletto heels.

Aden continued to take in the lewd spectacle with silence, watching his roommate stare out of the dressing room door, his warm hazel gaze trailing the object of his lust.

Biting down on his fist, a high pitched, giddy squeal escaped Gabriel's body. "Dude! Did you fucking _feel_ that?!" Turning towards Aden, he released the full force of his infectiously impish grin. "She's totally into me!"

A loud sigh escaped Aden's painted lips at this exuberant announcement, and he found himself shaking his head in disbelief at his roommate's antics.

"Why in the hell do you keep doing things like that to her?" Aden muttered, more out of his own irritation than any real concern for Shawn. "You know she absolutely hates you...right?"

"Dude...don't be such a hater." Gabe chastised, causing another sigh of exasperation to force it's way from Aden's slender nose. "I just refuse to give up the dream that...one day...she'll allow me the privilege of freaking her freak." Gabe stated pointedly, causing an unavoidable eye roll from his roommate.

"One of these days she's going to nail your ass for sexual harassment." Aden muttered out bitterly.

"Will you be a character witness?" Gabe's expression widen with false, childlike innocence.

At this Aden gave a resounding snort of amusement, then quickly composed himself by throwing a stern scowl at his roommate. S _omeone_ had to be the adult in this relationship.

"You're a complete ass, Gabe." He chided roughly, only to be met with an amused quirk of Gabe's pierced eyebrow.

"Come on, man. She's practically _begging_ for it." Gabe responded, his expression feigning seriousness for the briefest of moments. "You _know_ how I get around pent up tight ass bitches."

Aden felt the slightest chuckle crawl its way up his throat to slip through his painted lips. Damn, the man-child had won again. "Eblan." He retorted with the shake of his head, the Russian insult rolling off his tongue as his playful roommate contorted his expression in confusion.

"One of these days I'm gonna to get my hands on a Russian dictionary and your ass is gonna be in deep trouble." Gabe spat, though his words lacked any venom as a playful smile graced his lips.

"You can actually read?" Aden quipped with the raise of his own eyebrow, countering the threat as he stared at his roommate and fellow band member.

"...never said I was gonna read it..." Gabriel's reply came slow, his smile coming almost feline in the way it curled into his cheeks. "I'm gonna _spank_ you with it."

Aden's jaw went slack, a light blush of awkward embarrassment painting his high cheekbones.

Gabriel La Grange... Every inch the overgrown man-child to Aden's disgruntled old man. The product of a misspent youth and overly lenient single mother. Though he stood five foot eleven, one would never really be able to tell. The man insisted on always wearing the thickest combat boots he could get his hands on. If asked, he would spout off something about fashion trends in the music industry...but Aden knew better. Gabriel had an unfathomably immature petty streak. He just couldn't stand the fact that Aden was almost five years younger than him, yet towered at about six foot two...maybe four with the right shoes.

But Gabriel's childish, self-absorbed, ego-centric personality was never more prominently displayed than in the man's hair. To say Gabe loved his hair would be a gross understatement. Dark brown with the slightest hints of red and blond, it came just past the shoulders. Long enough for Gabriel to tie it up in one of his favorite signature styles of a slightly messy bun. Though one might think that this look would throw the man's masculinity into question, Gabe had more than enough self confidence to pull it off. And the women loved it. Almost as much as he did...

Aden watched as his band mate casually pushed himself off the threshold of the door frame and slowly sauntered into the dressing room. Brushing his bangs from his eyes, and casting his gaze away, Aden settled himself with the deeply unpleasant task of touching up his stage makeup. Slender fingertips ghosted over the tube of black lipstick as a disgruntled scowl contorted his features. He hadn't had nearly enough alcohol to prepare himself for this show. He wasn't numb enough yet.

"You want some help with that?" The voice of his band mate came quiet, with a level of calm reserve that was only afforded to Aden himself.

Without a second thought, Aden gave a nod of concession. Living with Gabriel, and working with him on a daily basis, the two had developed a close bond. Gabe had become the brother Aden never had. He was insufferable and immature to a fault, but if Aden were honest with himself, Gabe was one of the only people he really trusted. Gabriel always had a way of seeing right through Aden's front. And he never once used that against him.

Stooping to Aden's sitting form, Gabriel effortlessly thew his hair up, wrapping it with a cord to go to work. An over-sized hand took the tube and Gabe began his task in silence. With all the concentration and focus of an artist working on a canvas, the very tip of Gabe's tongue began to peek out between his lips. The gentle brushstrokes painted and stained pale features in thick, sticky black.

"So..." Gabriel began casually, his tone still quiet and relaxed as he continued his work. "Want some good news?" He continued without waiting for a response from Aden's preoccupied lips. "The opening band Shawn set us up with is complete shit." With that Gabriel completed his task of helping Aden touch up his lipstick as an impish grin tugged at the corner of his own lips.

"How exactly is that good news?" Aden's words came laced with a slight level of bitter cynicism.

"Because right now, they're out there making us look _really_ good, man." And with that Aden felt the unintentional twitch of a smile across the corner of his painted lips...gone before there was any proof it had been there to begin with.

Shawn was many a despicable and contemptuous a thing...but Aden had to begrudgingly conceded that she knew what she was doing when it came to management and promotion of their shows. Probably a skill she had developed working underneath his music producer, Aden mused bitterly as this pun of a thought caused another brief smirk. Setting his band up with inferior headliners was a tactic that seemed to work in their favor because the fans never came to see the other bands. That, and they stayed for the entire show just to see them play.

Aden had to admit the whole concept was pretty brilliant.

"Okay." Gabriel's voice came overly exuberant, his smile turning mischievous. "You know the drill now. Picture time!" He grinned at the defeated sigh that escaped Aden's lips.

Aden had tried. He had _tried_ to break his friend of this tradition. Even resorting to begging. And when that hadn't worked, Aden actually ended up breaking Gabe's camera. Gabe made him buy a new one. And the tradition continued. So Aden developed a level of learned helplessness to cope with the ridiculous custom. And before every single show, Gabriel got his picture.

Producing a thin, chic digital camera from his back pocket, Gabriel moved himself closer to Aden's face in order to get both of them in the shot. Parting his lips, Gabe trilled out the very words he had engraved on Aden's flask.

"Live the dream!"

 _'Fuck the dream,'_ Aden thought to himself as he raised his hand to the camera, jutting his black tipped middle finger in defiance as Gabriel placed his lips to the hollow of Aden's cheek in a kiss. A flash of light, and the tradition was concluded. Gabriel took a quick look at the finished product before a triumphant smile graced his lips.

"We're so completely bad ass." He grinned at Aden, who was less than amused. "Alright." Gabe continued as he finally straightened himself out to a standing position. "Let's go put those fucktards on stage out of their misery."

"Give me a minute." Aden murmured, his expression falling slightly somber. "I'll be right behind you." Aden watched his roommate give a slight nod before silently departing the dressing room.

Drawing in a deep breath through his nose, Aden released it in another long sigh. His gaze floated unintentionally towards the mirror of the vanity. And in the flash of a second he took in what he had been attempting to avoid all night.

It was the hair that his eyes had noticed first. A style surprisingly suited to his thin, angular, almost sharp facial features. Inky black bangs with a shock of deep electric blue swept themselves along almost half of his face. Exceedingly frustrating most of the time, they did offer a slight perk when Aden felt particularly avoidant. The bangs found themselves in sharp contrast to the side they were swept away from which had been cropped drastically short through to the back, opening up his profile. A style that would not be automatically deemed beautiful, it seemed to complement a personality that screamed ' _stay away,_ ' which Aden liked.

The rebelliously aggressive cut accented his sharp, lean face. High cheekbones and a slender nose, features he had inherited from his mother, appeared far too delicate for his temperament. A defiant temperament that was prominently displayed in a nose ring. Aden had tried a stud before, which had only made his features appear even more delicate.

If one looked closely, there was the lightest of scars where his nose was pierced. When he had gotten the piercing, Aden's foster father had been so enraged he actually ripped the ring out. Once his nose had eventually healed, Aden took the first opportunity he could to pierce it again. The bastard had nothing to say after that.

As he was forced to sit with his own reflection, Aden took in the heavy stage makeup on his face. He had always hated it, since day one. But that hadn't stopped his music producer from...convincing him. He told Aden that the fans would love it. And of course he had been right, at Aden's expense. It was always at his expense, Aden thought bitterly.

But it was his own eyes that bothered Aden the most. More than anything else. Because he had his father's eyes: dark rich brown, sometimes bordering on black. Aden had felt the impulse more than once to violently rip them out of his head, just to be rid of them. His dark lips twisted as he felt the rage bubbling up to the surface. His fingers found their way to his glass as he launched it viciously at the vanity mirror, the sound of shattering glass pleasing his more animalistic side. Staring back at the fractured, distorted reflection, Aden assessed the damage to the mirror. Better. At least he looked better.

Slowly standing from his seat at the vanity of his dressing room, Aden felt the room begin to spin. Placing the palm of his hand to the wall to steady himself, he hung his head as he took in another breath. He could do this. He had to. A two hour show. That's what he had to endure, and then he could throw his very own after party. Two hours. Aden pushed himself gently off the wall and exited the dressing room with this thought. It would make the show more tolerable.

He could hear the sound of the crowd as he stalked down the hall of the back stage. Feel the familiar knot in his stomach that followed. Aden hated crowds. Always had. He felt put on display, with too many eyes watching him. Waiting for him to fall. To falter. Enjoying every single second of his misery as he fell apart before them. For their amusement and entertainment. And they happily paid for his pain.

Swallowing down the bitterness like the alcohol that threatened to come back up, Aden could hear his band mate entertaining the crowd with his usual antics. Gabriel loved the energy of their live performances. Thrived off of it. Feeding on the interaction of the audience as they played to his need for attention. But these shows always left Aden feeling so sick. Exposed. Vulnerable. He hated feeling vulnerable.

As he approached the stage Aden's dark gaze took in the audience. The stadium was packed. Apparently the opening band had done a really shitty job of driving the fans away. Taking a brief moment, Aden carefully constructed a smile on his lips. Something his music producer had told him he needed to work on. At least the alcohol had relaxed his muscles enough to manage a slight smirk. He knew it still wasn't quite right, but it would have to do. The fans would love it.

Taking a sharp breath in, he pushed himself forward onto the stage as he was greeted by thunderous applause. His long, slow stride carried him to the microphone and his slender fingers wrapped around it, grasping the meager defense it offered. His eyes squinted in irritation as the stage's bright lights focused on him. He could feel their heat penetrating his makeup. He would endure the lights, because at least he couldn't see the crowd anymore. But...he could still hear them. Feel them staring at him.

Usually, most musicians took the time to introduce themselves to their audience. Spent some time mingling with the crowd before beginning their show. Aden left that up to Gabriel, refusing to interact with the fans himself. The sooner this was over, the better. Slowly raising his free hand above him, Aden gave the gesture to start.

The whole stage vibrated with heavy bass, and Aden let it soak into his skin. Into his body. As it washed over him, he closed his eyes and began to sing. His voice came almost soft, forlorn in the melodic tale he was weaving.

I look at you as you're looking at me

And I'm trying to find out what's underneath

But you've taken the ground from underneath my feet

The only sound is my silent scream

And no one can see that I am in hell

The second I fell

But you continue to sing to me

'All is well'

No one will care now that you are in hell

No one can tell

Because all is well, child

All is well

This is your hell, child

All is well, child

Welcome to hell, child

All is well...

Feeling the old familiar sense of desperation, Aden tried to focus on the melody. But the words always came in the way. His words. His truth. Each word a revelation as he stripped himself down. Bled himself out for their entertainment. And they all found it so terribly amusing. Reining in his rage, Aden pushed through the next verse as the audience sat in rapture, the heavy metal beat calming itself as it moved out of the chorus.

And you know that I've had to shed my skin

To reveal the darkness you've placed within

Making me something that you could keep

Now there's nothing left but my silent scream

And no one can see that I am in hell

The second I fell

But you continue to sing to me

'All is well'

No one will care now that you are in hell

No one can tell

Because all is well, child

All is well

This is your hell, child

All is well, child

Welcome to hell, child

All is well...

None of them understood. They didn't understand his music. His lyrics. Their meaning. What he was going through. To them, it was all just an act. A show. And they loved it. Oh how they loved and craved his misery. And he hated them for it. Every single one of them. But...Aden hated _him_ even more.

You continue to take, though I can't give more

I've become what I hate and what you adore

Left broken and scarred underneath your feet

Falling on your deaf ear is my silent scream

 _Everything_ had been taken from him in cruel words or, worse yet, from his flesh. In this life that was given to him, Aden had the world. But that meant absolutely nothing to him. In gaining the world, he had lost his soul.

Memories swirled to the music in time and rhythm as the voice of the Devil himself taunted Aden. The tension of the music Gabriel created stretched over the entire room. Aden's voice followed suit as it dropped into a low, quiet whisper as he squeezed his eyes shut, trying desperately to block out the voice in his head. He could feel the rage seething beneath his skin and he fought to release it in the lyrics.

I still hear you sing

I can hear you sing

Hear you sing

Hear you sing

The whispered words came through the microphone in a low hiss. Thick and grainy, they gave testimony against the one person Aden couldn't stand against.

I still hear you sing

I can hear you sing

Hear you sing

He couldn't confront the Devil. He was just too weak and beaten down. So he settled for this. Unleashing his rage on the audience. They were safe. They wouldn't understand. Sucking in the air around him, Aden violently screamed out the words that followed, letting them bleed out and into the audience.

When you fucking scream!

At me!

This is your hell, child!

All is well, child!

Welcome to hell, child!

All is well, child!

This is your hell, child

All is well, child

Welcome to hell, child

All is well...

And no one can see that I am in hell

The second I fell

But you continue to sing to me

'All is well'

No one will care now that you are in hell

No one can tell

Because all is well, child

All is well

This is your hell, child

The second you fell, child

Welcome to hell, child

No one can tell, child

This is your hell, child

All is well, child

Welcome to hell, child

All is well...

All is well...

Feeling the cathartic rush wash over him as the song drew to an end, Aden opened his eyes to the wild applause of his fans. The lights. The noise. The alcohol. Everything rushed through him all at once, briefly overwhelming his senses. It was always the same. He felt ill. He could sense the growing pain in the back of his head, spreading it's tendrils through his scalp and creeping its way towards his temples and forehead. Silently he cursed the fact that he would have to push through the rest of the show with a migraine.

Slumping into the seat of his dressing room, Aden began arguing with himself between the need for some pain reliever or more liquor. Though, he found that he wasn't entirely apposed to both. Frustrated with the fact that the migraine refused to allow him to focus and make a decision, Aden began the arduous task of removing his stage makeup. His actions were momentarily halted as the door of his dressing room opened gently. Aden's entire body stiffened for the fraction of a heartbeat before he resumed cleaning his face.

"Kris..." Aden whispered the cold greeting as he glimpsed the fractured form of his music producer through the demolished mirror.

He heard the gentle foot fall followed by the closing of the dressing room door, each sound echoing through his throbbing head. He had really hoped to avoid this interaction tonight. Kris had an unusual knack for bringing out the absolute worst in people...and Aden found himself no exception. His finger's needed to grasp something and his eyes fell on an empty glass, his migraine taunted him for not choosing the drink. He knew he was going to need it by the look on Kris's face.

"What did you do to my fucking mirror?" Kris murmured as he casually took in the damage to the vanity mirror, everything always automatically belonging to him.

"Shawn pissed me off." Aden muttered the half truth...Shawn was always a safe scape goat.

"Did you enjoy the show?" The question floated in the air, quickly absorbed into the silence of the walls of the room.

A slow, methodical sigh parted the man's lips as a cigarette took its place. A hand cupped slender fingers over the cigarette as he lit it. He took a slow drag before exhaling a breath of smoke, holding the cigarette delicately poised between his fingers.

"You really need to stop writing shit about me, McCaffery." He muttered out as he casually leaned himself against the wall, completely owning the space.

Kristean Mitchell. Gabe had given him many other alias, though. Satan. Lucifer. Prince of Fucking Darkness. Kris quite liked that one, much to Aden's dismay. His cold gaze continued to burrow into the back of Aden's head.

Mitchell was an absolutely beautiful man. Truly striking in his appearance. His raven black hair was always kept casually mussed, tantalizingly begging one to run their fingers through it. In startling contrast to the dark, inky hair were his eyes. Light, pale blue. A color that was entirely unsettling, but was none the less deeply attractive in its unique quality.

He dressed himself in the classiest apparel, always sporting decorative rings. But his signature piece of fashion was a delicate gold cross that hung loosely from his slender neck. At first blush, one could mistake Mitchell as a man of delicate nature. But this was a mistake all too swiftly remedied with a simple smile. When Kris smiled, his lips curled in pleasure, revealing his malicious intent to anyone that gazed upon him. His wide smile reveled his true predator form. It always seemed as if he wanted to hurt someone.

"What makes you think my songs are about you...?" Aden whispered as he continued to wipe off the makeup from his face, trying to swallow down the bitter soaked words.

"Aren't they?" The challenge came with the raise of an eyebrow as the cigarette met thin lips once more.

 _'Only most of them,'_ Aden thought resentfully.

"Not all of them." He responded quietly, not entirely willing to concede to that fact.

"Pity..." The voice responded a little closer to him, and Aden's breath hitched in his throat as he realized Kris's approach had gone unnoticed. "You really should have left the makeup on..." This comment tacked on as a verbal backhand.

 _'Fuck you, Kris.'_ The thought crashed itself violently against the intended insult. Kris was always oh so playful with his degradation. Clever with his words. But Aden had learned quite quickly that to say anything would only lead to...painful consequences.

Aden felt the sudden contact of Kris's hand on his shoulder, and had to fight the immediate and violent compulsion to hit the man. Kris knew. He _knew_ Aden didn't like being touched. Knowledge Kris had discovered the one and only time Aden had actually lashed out and hit him. A mistake Kris was swift to correct. So Aden bit his tongue and settled on letting the rage fester and rot away at his core. It was better that way. Less painful.

"...it makes you look like such a beautiful little bitch." The whisper of warm breath masked the harsh words as they fluttered to Aden's ear, taking his own breath away.

 _'...cyka...'_

His chest heaved as the voice infiltrated his mind. Creeping from the darkest corner of his memory, it came to supplant the current conversation as Mitchell's words began to fade. Replaced by a dull roar...and...that voice.

 _'...cyka...'_

Locked in this single moment, Aden's body became rigid. He could hear it. Lifting gently just above the ringing in his ears. Stifled sobbing. And above that. The familiar, deeper voice coming low and menacing in its demand.

 _'Na kaleni...cyka...'_

Aden's eyes dilated in response to the sudden pain emanating from his shoulder. His consciousness resurfacing as Kris methodically snuffed out his cigarette on Aden's exposed skin. The pale flesh became red and inflamed underneath the black of the ash as Kris casually dropped the butt of his cigarette to the floor.

"There you are." Kris murmured, his tone cold and icy. "I lost you there for a moment..." These words came laced with an undertone of frustration.

Kris hated being ignored. Almost as much as he hated hearing the word 'no.' He never took kindly to being denied the satisfaction he sought out. Placing a fresh cigarette between his lips and lighting it up, Kris let out another sigh of smoke through his slender nose.

"You know..." He whispered, his tone low as he began to make his way to the door of the dressing room. "You would do well to remember that you wouldn't be here if it weren't for me." A malicious smile curled at the corner of Kris's lips as he took in the minute flicker of defiant rage in Aden's eyes. "Because I wont hesitate to throw you out right on your ass, back into that shit-hole I found you in. I made you..." Kris murmured lowly. "And I can destroy you, all the same." And with the threat lingering in the air around them, Kris quietly dismissed himself, leaving Aden with the fractured person in the mirror.

* * *

 **A/N: Song lyrics in the first part of this segment (Dear Agony) Are "What Lies Underneath" by Breaking Benjamin. Lyrics provided in (Hard Candy) are all mine, as are the characters and plot. Thank you in advance for respecting the rights to my original story AND lyrics/poetry.**


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